To Those Who Wait
by blackdragonsghost
Summary: Some very sad, heartachy drabble-ish things that I wrote while I was feeling a bit blue. A few thoughts for all those who were left waiting while a handful of brave, foolish people tried to save the world. Implied romance only, but definite hinted femslash, slash, and het. Technically canon compliant.


_Author's Note: Hey, guys! Yeah, it's me! Remember me? That horribly delinquent dragon that vanished off the face of the earth for - ohsweetjesus SEVEN MONTHS? God, the time has flown. Well, a long story short: I got shipped off overseas to South Korea on a very much classified mission for the government. It went on a hell of a lot longer than anticipated: I damned myself by succeeding a bit too well, and instead of sending a replacement they just kept me on. I'm finally home now, though, and it is absolute bliss to be back! I got a promotion out of the deal, though, so I'm getting a bigger paycheck and my boss has finally backed off - and I can now share a delightful bit of news that I didn't get a chance to publicize before. Back in April, just before I got word of my reassignment, my girlfriend of several years, Tianna, asked me to marry her! I said yes, of course, but we hardly had time to tell anyone at all before I had to ship out: she kept tabs on my stuff for a while when I didn't have Internet access, but back in September we managed to get the okay for her to come over and join me in Korea, which is why I've been completely out of touch for the last couple months. We still don't know for sure when the wedding is, but we're making tentative plans for the spring; I feel like all the shit I've gone through in the last few years was more than cancelled out by that one blessing. Tianna's unquestionably the best thing that ever happened to me, and I thank the Goddess every day that I'm lucky enough to have her love me back. Anyway, enough of my personal life; it's wonderful to be back, and rest assured, I have oodles of stuff to post. Updates and chapters and whole new fics, including updates for New Era of Vengeance and Land of the Flame: the latter's going to be sent to Alowl for beta-ing as soon as I can get it typed up, and the others will be posted as well once I get them typed, but they're all on notepaper and I'm horrendously jet-lagged so it might be a few days before I'm fully caught up. I picked this and my other Coldfire piece that I'm posting tonight to do first because they're the shortest, and the SPN one because the person I wrote it for is probably eagerly awaiting results. I will also begin answering my stack of unread PMs and catching up on fics posted in my absence as soon as possible, so don't worry, I will be up to date and back in the game very soon! _

_Warnings: So, so much sad. Please bring your own Kleenex. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, though I do shoulder full blame for the gut wrenching nature of these miserable little snippets._

_A.N.2: These aren't all set at the same time. The first one's somewhere near the end of WTNF, the second one is at the end of BSR, the third one's also set in WTNF and the last two are during CoS. The third and fourth ones are also far less outright sad than the others, but they do at least fit the theme of waiting. The third one I stuck in anyway, because when I read it over again a couple weeks after I wrote it, the implications - for me at least - seemed quite painful. After all, we know what came next. The fourth one... I'm not sure. I just didn't know where else to put it, really, and I figured something a little less tragic probably wouldn't be protested. And the last one more than makes up for it in the tragedy, if I do say so myself._

_A.N.3: So, I developed a habit of writing down snippets of odd fics in my notebooks as they come to me, and I found several Coldfire ones with a similar theme, so I figured I'd throw them all together and post them in one sitting. This is a little tribute to all the characters who had to sit back and wait while our heroes saved the day, and the prices some of them had to pay. Don't read this unless you're looking for heartache; I debated posting because of the sheer depression of these things, but then I remembered certain other works posted in this fandom *coughTheEndcough* and figured I'd just go ahead and torture you lot anyway. Besides, this is my first time writing more than half of these characters, even though they're all technically canon, even if I've had to expand on things like names; I figured I'd better post it just to see how I did. Honestly, though, I am sorry that my first post is so sad - don't worry, the others I'll be posting over the next few days aren't anywhere near this bad! _

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...

Autumn Song was an annual rakhene ceremony, meant to celebrate the presence of the loved ones in a person's life and to honor and remember those loved ones who had passed away. As the solemn drumbeats and wistful flutes echoed through the camp of hide tents and tinkling wind chimes, a human woman stood alone on a nearby hill and gazed out over the sea of golden grass. In one hand, she held an intricate charm of woven grass threaded with delicate stone beads and fine, feather-light bones. In the other, she clutched a miniature copy of the Church of Unification's _Psalms and Hymns_, a curiosity given to her by the same dear friend whose neat, looping writing still adorned the inside of the jacket.

_Happy Holidays, Cee. Just in case you ever miss my preaching while I'm away. Love, Damien._

Gazing down at the items she held for a moment, the woman then lifted her hands and pressed the braid and book against her chest, cradling them over her heart as she looked out across the empty grasslands with tears in her soft brown eyes.

"Oh, Damien... Hesseth... where are you?"

~CF~CF~CF~CF~CF~

The letter lay unfolded on the kitchen table, bone-colored parchment against the rick gleam of polished oak. Though it had arrived tightly folded and neatly creased, it had been read so many times that it lay flat against the wood, an unfamiliar hand spelling out the words that had been dreaded by the letter's recipient for so long.

_Mes Huyding, _

_I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. As I'm sure you know, your fiancée Senzei Reese accompanied myself and the loremaster Ciani on a journey to the rakhlands. It is to my deepest, most painful that I must inform you that Senzei is dead - he was killed on the journey to a place called the House of Storms, to challenge a powerful and evil sorcerer who had established a reign of terror over the local rakh. I know that nothing I say can make this better, but I..._

Next to the letter lay a golden ring, thin and delicate, its circumference etched with finely curling sigils of love, protection, and devotion. There it had lain, for the last eight months; untouched by a human hand since a woman with a breaking heart had laid it there, symbol of a trial that had grown to arduous to bear.

Sitting in the stiff-backed dining chair, her hands resting on the table in a tragic parody of calm, Allesha stared with hollow eyes at the letter and the ring. It was Senzei's table they sat on, Senzei's kitchen in Senzei's house; she had only been looking after it until he came home. So many years of memories here to tend, so much regret everywhere she turned - where had it all gone sour? When had a teenaged romance turned into the bitter reality of adulthood, in love with a man who could never give her what she wanted? When had a journey to explore a distant land turned into a heroic quest that claimed the life of a good man? The goodbye had been painful, but nowhere near as agonizing as this sudden, horrifically final blow. The letter seemed to laugh at her, its sympathy and kindness only worsening the sting. _Mes Huyding_. Upstairs in a bedroom, in an oaken chest full of dusty memories and faded dreams, three words encompassed by a crudely sketched heart burned on the page of a faded diary. The words danced in Allesha's mind, bitter and mocking in their naive glory.

_Mes Allesha Reese_.

Senzei's Last Will and Testament was somewhere in that trunk too, in which he left all his worldly possessions to the girl he had loved since they met in high school, to the woman he hoped to marry. Burying her face in her hands as the tears finally won free and cascaded down her cheeks, Allesha felt herself shatter.

~CF~CF~CF~CF~CF~

Rasya leaned against the rail, breathing deeply of the cool night air. The ship rocked gently on the waves, steady and soothing as the water lapped quietly at the hull; this kind of peace was her favorite, the last breaths of calm and serenity before the beginning of a voyage. They would be leaving for the West again soon, the captain said - it was nearing the end of the time frame they had been given for their passengers' quest, and they were making ready to sail in preparation for the departure. The _Golden Glory_ breathed contentedly, a sleeping dolphin resting before it would rise to leap and bound across the waves again.

The navigator pressed a hand over her mouth, stifling a sudden burst of laughing at the strangely poetic and rambling turn her thoughts had taken. Clearly she'd been at port too long; the roll of the sea and the wind in her hair would cure her soon enough, though, once they were underway. Her mirth faded and turned to wistfulness as she thought of their passengers; the adept was creepy as Hell but somehow fascinating as well, and the rakh was hardly worth mentioning considering the amount of time she spent locked away in cabin, but the Knight... ah, there was a man who knew a good time when he saw one.

Rasya was far from undiscerning. She had standards, she didn't spread her legs for any man who happened to look her way; indeed, under ordinary circumstances she made it a rule not to sleep with any of the passengers they took on board. It got complicated too fast. This time, though, she had made an exception - Damien Vryce was charming, good-humored, tough as nails, and ruggedly handsome in all the right ways. When he'd given her an appreciative look and a slow, heated smile, Rasya found her usual common sense diving overboard in a hurry. Indeed, in a disturbingly short amount of time, her reservations had melted away entirely; during this long wait, with little to do but think and dream, Rasya had found her own thoughts causing her quite some consternation.

She'd never really seen herself as the type to settle down... but Damien Vryce was special, no question of that. As she stood there, gazing out over the waves, Rasya let her mind glance over such questions as whether a man like that would want to settle down, either. Where he'd want to live if he did so. If he was partial to the seaside. What their kids might look like.

That time, she did laugh softly, her mirth at her own wild musings spilling over. As the sound faded, she heard a faint commotion behind her; twisting to look, she was surprised to see some sort of confusion happening in the city. She could just make out the bustling shapes of people hurrying to and fro in the streets, their movements somehow looking frantic even in this distance through the darkness - and where they carrying torches?

Perfect. A nighttime street brawl. Snorting, Rasya strolled across the deck to the landward side. As she took up a post against that rail and settled in to watch what would no doubt be an interesting night, the navigator smiled to herself. Maybe, when that Knight got back, she'd have a nice little talk with him about parenthood, genetics, and sparkling hazel eyes.

~CF~CF~CF~CF~CF~

He paced. The warmly-colored cherryoak floors did not even deign to creak beneath his tread, so only the hollow thud of his feet broke the silence of the little house. From the outside, the building would have seemed like a cozy home - its lighted windows were framed by soft pastel curtains, the trim was neatly painted, the gardens were tidily tended and the front porch boasted a matched set of chairs and a clean-swept welcome mat in front of the door. The inside of the house was just as comfortable and pleasant - but it was painfully empty, near-total silence disturbed only by the footsteps of the dark-haired man pacing endlessly back and forth in front of the sitting room's picture window.

After a while, the door to the sitting room opened with a quiet swish, and a woman looked in. Her face had clearly been lovely, once, and was still very attractive; time had mellowed her features, though, giving her an air of motherliness and contentment. Now, her graceful features were weighed down with worry, premature lines forming around her mouth and eyes as she stepped into the room and said softly, "Jorman. Please, come to bed. It's after midnight."

The man stopped pacing and sighed, raising one hand and raking his fingers distractedly through his greying hair. "Soon, Madelia. Soon. I just... can't seem to sleep, yet."

The woman bit her lip, then matched her husband's sigh. There was a rustle of fabric, then the door clicked closed: Jorman turned back to the window, staring out into the night as he wondered what had befallen their beloved daughter. She had left with scarcely a word, only a hastily scribbled note and a promise to return soon. She had needed to say no more: whispers ran through every corner of Jaggonath about the last descendant of the Tarrant line, the handsome and dashing young man who was riding to war against the Forest and the beautiful young woman he had intended to leave behind. The man clutched the curtain with one shaking hand, pulling it back to peer into the darkness as he spoke in a voice gone soft and hoarse with fear.

"Come back safe, Nari."

Alone in the silent sitting room, Jorman Lessing waited.

~CF~CF~CF~CF~CF~

Coreset. The day's tasks were completed, the tiny vegetable garden he had coaxed into life watered and the supplies he needed purchased at the nearest market and hauled back via unhorse. Now, all that was left to do was drink himself into a haze, until the pain in his chest stopped feeling like someone had shoved a knife through his ribs when he wasn't looking.

How do you repair a broken heart? How do you stitch up the jagged pieces of a shattered life? Having a comrade die, losing a lover, watching a child die in your arms, realizing that you could no longer have pure faith in the God to whom you had dedicated your entire life, seeing the man whom you'd fought beside and grown to care for sacrifice himself for the greater good, witnessing the moment when that man's proffered second chance was brutally torn away - any one of those tragedies was enough to break a man, and he had faced them all and come away seemingly little the worse for wear. That was only the mask he wore, though; inside, he was broken, battered and scarred and riddled with wounds that still bled freely in the hollow emptiness of his heart. There was a raw ache in his soul, where another's soul had once been tied close against his own, before it was ruthlessly torn away; that wound, and others, refused to heal, and he had no idea if it ever would.

There was nothing he could do, though, except let the days pass in a haze of pain as he hoped against hope that someday, the pain would lessen. Until then, he buried himself in the dull rhythm of existing and numbed the pain with as much alcohol as he could lay hands on, trying desperately to forget the past that seemed to dog his every thought and footstep. Worst of all, somehow, was the knowledge that now, his agony served no purpose; the one who would once have fed on his suffering was gone from his life forever. It hurt far more than it should have.

In his little house on Black Ridge Pass, Damien Vryce waited. For what, he didn't know.

...

...

_A.N.4: Oh, God. I'm so, so sorry. I just made myself tear up a bit typing that out. Sorry, guys! I swear, my other post's much happier, and I'll have lots of action and excitement for you tomorrow!_


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